Flu Symptoms
by Meghannna
Summary: Takes place after 3x12. Andy shows up to work very sick. And Sam is the first one to see her before she nearly passes out in the parking lot.


**AN: I can't commit to a multi-chapter fics right now, but apparently one-shots are fair game. This little gem came to me as I was fighting a cold that I worreid would turn into the flu. It hasn't, but I'm not done coughing. **

**Let me know your thoughts!**

Sam got out of his truck, throwing his bag over his shoulder, just as a cab pulled into the parking lot. Without looking, he knew who it was and he should have walked away faster. But he was stuck in his spot, staring. He watched Andy get out, looking like she'd seen better days. Her hair looked like it was supposed to be up but most of it was falling around her face, she was sweating despite the falling snow, and she looked like she hadn't slept in days. Without thinking, he walked toward her carefully as she paid the driver and turned toward him and the station. She stumbled on her second step and he rushed toward her to steady her by the elbows.

"Whoa there," he said and she slowly looked up from the ground to his face. His eyes widened involuntarily at the sight of her flushed skin and red eyes. "You need to go home, McNally."

"_You _need to go home," she told him weakly and he smiled despite himself. "Can you let go of me?"

"Can you _stand_?" He asked, pulling back so just the tips of is fingers were on her elbows. She narrowed her red eyes and stepped away from his touch. She stood successfully for about 15 seconds before she lurched forward to brace herself against her knees. "Okay, let's go," he said, putting an arm around her waist. He took her bag off of her shoulder and put it with his on his own.

Andy hesitated for a minute, but he felt her lean her weight against his side and he walked them back to his truck. "What are you doing?" She asked when he opened the passenger side door. "You need to go to work."

"Don't worry about me," he argued, looking at his truck as he tried to figure out how to keep her upright while he got their bags in the backseat. "Put your arms around my neck."

She scoffed and he took her hips in his hands and pulled her to stand in front of him. "Arms around my neck, Andy," he said and she rolled her eyes before doing as she was told. He used his newly freed hands to get the back door open and put both bags in the back seat. He looked down at her to find her head resting on his shoulder. "Okay, McNally, we gotta get you in the truck."

"I can't move," she whined and he nodded against the side of her head.

He took her arms from around his neck and helped her up into the seat. She collapsed against the center console as soon as she was seated and he moved around her to get her seatbelt on. "I'm going to tell Frank that I'm taking you home," Sam said and she nodded slowly. "I'll be _right _back."

Before she could say anything else, he closed the door carefully. He watched her a second longer through the window and she shifted to rest against the cool glass. Swallowing, he turned toward the station with his hands deep in his jacket pocket. Oliver was the first person he saw. "You're late, Brother," he accused and Sam nodded.

"Yeah, listen," he sighed. "I'm going to be a lot later. McNally has the flu or something and I'm going to take her home. Can you let Frank know?"

"She okay?" Oliver asked, concern lacing his voice.

"I don't think so," Sam shrugged. "She can't even stand. I'm just going to get her home and call her dad. I'll be back within the hour."

"Take the day," Oliver suggested and Sam scoffed. "Sammy she needs someone."

"Which is why I'm going to call Tommy," he said slowly and Oliver shook his head.

"Sam, she needs _you_."

"I am the _last _person she needs," he argued and Oliver laughed, clapping his shoulder.

"I'm telling Frank that you're taking the day off, so you might as well take it and take care of her," he said before turning toward parade and leaving Sam with his mouth open.

He rolled his neck before turning back to the parking lot. When he got in his truck, Andy was already sleeping. She was never one to snore, but he found her sounding like a bulldozer and he smiled to himself. The drive back to her place was slow as the snow continued to fall and the other drivers acted like it had never happened before. He sighed every time he put his foot on the brake, looking over at Andy as she remained oblivious. He just wanted to get her back to bed.

When they finally got there, he parked the truck and looked back at her bag. He'd grab it later; he had a feeling she was going to need a lot more help getting inside. He couldn't even imagine how she got out in the first place. When the truck shut off and the heat stopped blowing on her, Andy shook awake and let out a long whine. She turned her head and stared at his blank face. "Ugh," she whined again and he cracked a smile.

"That's sweet, McNally," he told her and she rolled her eyes halfheartedly.

"You broke up with me," she reminded him and he nodded, his eyes falling away from her face. "You broke _me_."

His eyes found hers again and his heart shattered for the hundredth time since he left her in the parking lot of the Penny. "I know," he nodded and she closed her eyes and turned her head away. "Can I get you inside?"

"Fine," she sighed. He nodded to himself and walked got out of the truck. He stuffed his keys in his pocket and opened her door.

"Come on," he said gently, leaning across her to unlatch her seatbelt. She fell into his arms and he got her on her feet outside the truck. "How did you manage to get dressed and get in that cab in the first place?"

"I didn't feel this bad when I woke up," she said and he held her around the waist to close the door. "I just looked this bad."

He chuckled and she laughed into his neck weakly. He got her to stand next to him and started the short walk to her building. "You ever wake up looking this bad again, you should probably just call out of work to begin with," he suggested and she nodded against his shoulder.

Once inside, he stared at the steps and wondered how in the hell he'd get her walking up those. "I hate you," she whispered and he sighed, looking down at her.

"I know," he said. "I'm sorry."

"I am too," she said, putting her arms around his neck without being told. He looked down at her quickly and then back at the stairs. He did the only thing he could think to do and bent his knees to get an arm around her waist and under her knees. When he was standing, she settled deeper against his chest and tightened her arms around his neck. He took the stairs carefully and when he reached the landing he kept her in his arms.

"Where are your keys, McNally?" He asked quietly as he put her to stand against the wall outside her door. She reached behind her and he watched her make a move for the back pocket of her jeans. She didn't have the strength to lift the end of her jacket and get her hand in her pocket. So, Sam sighed and pulled her to rest against his chest while his hand slid into her pocket and came out with her mess of keys. She wrestled out of his arms and rested back against the wall.

He looked toward the ceiling and rolled his eyes. Whatever was wrong with her had her going from hot to cold with him and he was starting to get frustrated. He opened the door, tossed her keys onto her couch and pulled her away from the wall and inside. He got her jacket off and they worked together to toe off her sneakers before he led her to her bedroom- which was a disaster. Tissues everywhere, clothes everywhere, and her bed was unmade. Andy wasn't the neatest person in the world, but she was better than that. He laid her down in bed and looked around the room again.

"You were lying earlier," he accused as he pulled the blanket over her body.

"Hmm?" She hummed, turning onto her side and hugging a pillow against her chest.

Sam sat behind her back with his hand on the other side of the pillow so he could look down at her. "You were just as sick this morning when you left for work," he elaborated and she let out a frustrated breath. "It's okay to take a sick day every once in a while, McNally. Especially when you're walking around like the undead."

"You can go now," she said into her pillow and he nodded to himself. "You did your duty; you got me back in bed. Now, please leave before I sneeze on you or something. You didn't get your flu shot like I told you to."

"Yeah, and you did," he smiled and she looked up at him. "Look how well that turned out."

"Shut up," she hissed and he shook his head, laughed. He removed his arm from around her and sat up straight, looking into the mirror that hung on the wall. He didn't look great, either, but he knew it had nothing to do with being sick.

He hadn't slept a full night since Jerry was killed. It had a lot to do with Jerry and a lot to do with McNally not being there. And he could have stopped both of those things from happening. He could have listened to his best friend that day instead of Andy, but he didn't. He followed her gut instead of his own and that led to his best friend being killed. And it wasn't Andy's fault; he truly didn't blame her. It was his own and he would have to live with that for the rest of his life.

* * *

When Andy woke up, hours later, there was a huge cup of water on her bedside table. She sat up and took a long sip as she looked around her room. It was a lot cleaner than she remembered it being, the only tissues she saw were in the box next to her lamp. She thought back and vaguely remembered being carried at some point. But it all came back to her when she heard a soft chuckle from the next room. She sighed and pushed the blankets off of her lap. She was in a pair of sweatpants, but she remembered the struggle she felt in the morning when she pulled on a pair of jeans. She got up slowly, using her bedside table for balance, and whined at the pain in her muscles and joints. Her head was pounding and her throat felt like the desert, but she had some strength back.

She walked slowly to her open door and leaned against the frame as soon as she could. "What the hell is so funny?" She asked and Sam snapped his attention toward her as he shut off the TV. He was on his feet in a second and walked over to her.

"You should be in bed," he said and she hung her head to lessen the ache there. "Andy-"

"Sam," she said, putting her hand out against his chest and he stopped. "I asked you to leave."

"Yes," he said and she watched his feet take a step closer and she forced herself to look up at him again. "But I couldn't."

"You've never seemed to have that problem before," she said. It sounded harsh even to her own ears.

"No," he agreed and she swore there was a hint of sadness in his voice. "I've never seen you so weak, though. So, I did leave and I got you some cold and flu medicine. I see it's working," he said, pointing at her standing form.

"Was I awake when I took that?" She asked, confused. She was sure she'd been asleep since he got off of the bed.

"Barely," he smirked and she nodded. Nodding wasn't good, it hurt too much, so she put a hand to her head and rested further into the doorframe. "I also got you some soup. Do you want some?"

"Not now," she said quietly and she pushed herself to stand. His hands were on her hips immediately and her skin burned at the touch even though she was wearing a shirt. "Did you change my clothes?" She asked, steadying herself with her hands on his biceps. He nodded and looked a little guilty. "Thanks."

"No problem," he smiled and she leaned further into him. One of his hands slid to the small of her back and her hands slid up to his shoulders. They were strong and she was weak. She was weak in so many ways when he had his hands on her. "Andy, you should get back to bed," he said quietly, directly into her ear and she nodded.

"I don't hate you," she said, hating _herself _as soon as it was out of her mouth.

"You should," he said uneasily. He tightened his hold on her and lifted her just until her feet left the ground and he was carrying her again.

"I wish I did," she said, folding her arms around his neck as they neared the bed. "I really do."

He lay her down and she watched him rub a hand over his face. "I'll wake you up in a couple of hours to take more medicine," he said, changing the subject. "But before I give it to you, you really should eat something."

"Why are you doing this, Sam?" She asked and he sighed.

"Because you need to be taken care of," he said, throwing his hands out to his sides. "And I'm not leaving until you feel better."

"It hurts," she said and he nodded, sitting on the bed again.

"Well, you have the flu, Andy. That usually hurts a little bit," he smirked and she smiled, rolling onto her side to face him.

"That's not what I meant," she said sadly when his hand landed on her waist. His touch stiffened and he sighed again. "You being here- it hurts. Because eventually you're going to leave again and I'm going to be alone. Again."

She missed his touch as soon as his hand left her side and she let out an involuntary whine at the loss of contact. "What can I do?"

She knew she was too sick and she should be watching what she was saying, but she didn't care. "Stop leaving," she said, looking up at him. His face was stone as he brushed her hair out of her face. "And don't touch my disgusting hair."

He laughed at that and his hand went back to her waist. "You're better off without me, McNally."

"I don't know, Sam," she said, rolling onto her back again. His hand lifted as she turned but landed on her hip when she settled. "I don't seem much better off."

"That's the flu talking," he smirked and she shook her head and her eyes fell closed.

"My heart."

* * *

Sam sat in her living room for two hours in silence. He didn't turn on the television. He didn't even turn on a light as the sun began to set. He just listened to the silence, prepared to be by her side when she woke up. And he thought long and hard about the conversation they had right before she fell asleep again. He had been watching her since he broke up with her and he had to admit, she wasn't acting like herself. And it wasn't the same as when she and Callaghan broke up, either. Then, she was mad. Now, she just looked defeated all the time, like she was just going through the motions. The other night, the night of the incident in booking, he had tried to be there for her, to make sure she was okay, and she pushed him away.

And he couldn't blame her. He'd done a pretty solid job of pushing her away the past few weeks. It's not that he wanted to be her friend; he was sure that would kill him. And it wasn't that he wanted her to take him back; she really was better off without him. It was that he just wanted to be there for her. He couldn't leave the station until he saw for himself that she was all right. And then he saw her at the bar with Collins. Collins, who was out sick that day. He held his head in his hands at the realization. They'd been spending time together. He thought for sure he was with Peck, but it wouldn't surprise him to find out that it ended between them. And it wouldn't surprise him that Collins would find comfort in the most comforting person he'd ever known.

He heard a cough from the next room followed by a long string of curse words and he smiled to himself before standing up and walking in. "Hey," he said, leaning against her dresser and her eyes opened momentarily before squeezing shut again.

"Is it time for more medicine?" She asked, pulling a pillow over her head.

"You need to eat something, Andy," he reminded her and she let out a shaky breath, loud enough for him to hear. "I'll warm up some soup. Don't fall back to sleep."

"With this pain?" She asked, rolling onto her back. "Impossible."

He smiled, despite the fact her face was still hidden by her pillow, and went to the kitchen to warm up the soup he bought her. It wasn't like he made it from scratch, but it also wasn't that crap from a can. He went to her favorite deli that always had it and bought as big a container of it as he could. She'd be eating it for days. He poured some into a pot and let it warm up on the stove before pouring it into a bowl.

He grabbed a spoon and carried it carefully through the living room and into her bedroom. She was in the exact same position as when he left her. So, he set down the soup and took the pillow off her head. She coughed in his face in reply and he turned away until it subsided. "I told you I was going to get you sick," she said as she tried to push herself up. He helped her until she was resting against her headboard completely and turned back for her soup.

"It's hot," he warned, placing it in her outstretched hands.

"I hope so," she mumbled, resting it on her lap, and he handed her a spoon. He watched her try and eat it, but the muscles in her arms were weak and she was having a hard time bending over to reach the spoon.

"Want some help?" He asked with a smirk and she glared at him. It looked like she absolutely didn't _want _his help, but she needed it. "Sit back," he said and she collapsed against the headboard again without an argument.

He sat down next to her and took the bowl and spoon from her. He watched her as he fed her the first couple of spoonfuls, but looked down when she started watching him. "I can't believe you're still here," she said when he scooped up some more soup. He swallowed and shrugged, looking down at her glass of water. "As much as I want to hate you, I can't help but thank-"

"Did Collins get you sick?" He asked suddenly and she choked on her surprise. His eyes found hers, concerned, and she let out a humorless chuckle. "He was sick the other day, right?"

"He wasn't," she admitted and his eyes narrowed. "It's a long story, but no. He did not get me sick. Why would you ask that?"

"I don't know," he shrugged and she pinched his forearm to get him to focus on her again. "You've been spending a lot of time with him. If he had the flu, it would make sense that you'd catch it."

"This has nothing to do with the flu, Sam, and you know it," she said, pushing the soup away from her and rolling away from him. He put the bowl down and moved to the other side of the bed to keep the conversation going.

"What else would it be about?" He asked when he was sitting in front of her again. She sighed and tried to turn again, but without the medicine coursing through her, she was too weak.

"You don't want to be with me," she said when she realized moving was a lost cause. "But you don't want me to be with anyone else. You didn't even stop to consider the fact that he's with Gail."

"I did, actually," he nodded and she rolled her eyes. "I just- I know if I had to choose, I'd choose you every time."

As soon as it left his mouth, he literally bit his tongue. Andy covered her face with her hands before conjuring up enough strength to punch him in the thigh. "You chose to be alone," she said and he sighed, closing his eyes. She wasn't wrong. "You left me in a parking lot and did not choose me. You chose anything but me."

"I don't want anyone else, Andy," he argued, standing up from the bed. He moved to the dresser and picked up the capsules for her to take.

"Neither do I, you idiot," she yelled, her voice straining, and he braced himself against the surface of her dresser, his back to her. "I don't want to be with Nick. I want to go back to the way things were that day in your truck. When I told you I loved you. And you didn't say it back. I'd choose that moment over any moment since."

He rolled his neck and stood up straight, taking the medicine back to the bed. He sat down behind her and leaned over her to put it in her hands and helped her sit up again. "It's not that I don't want to be with you, Andy," he said quietly as he reached for her water. "I just don't think I'm the guy you need."

"What about what I want?" She asked, taking the glass from his hand. He watched her take down the pills and a good portion of the water. He assumed she'd be asleep in a matter of minutes.

"You don't want to be with a guy who left you crying in a parking lot," he said, putting the glass down again. He stood up and pulled on her feet until she was lying flat. "You don't want to be with a guy who can't tell you how he feels. At least you shouldn't."

"You're not all bad," she told him and he smiled at the dreaminess in her voice. "Give yourself some credit. At least, you're good in bed."

"Well, thank you," he laughed and she snored in response.

* * *

The next time Andy woke up, she was sure she was sicker than before. Her pillow felt like it was made of rocks and there was a sensation at the back of her head that was repetitive. It took her a full minute to realize that her "pillow" was Sam's chest and the sensation on her head was his hand moving through her greasy locks of hair.

"Of the two things I asked you to do to make it better, you are doing the exact opposite of what I thought you would," she said, clutching his shirt in her fist so she could pull herself closer.

"Hmm?" He hummed against her temple. He sounded just as sleepy as she felt.

"You're still here," she said. "And you're touching my hair. I thought you'd be long gone and smart enough not to get grease on your fingers."

"It's not that bad," he laughed against her skin, still grasping the last bit of sleep.

"Remember how I said I didn't hate you?" She asked and he finally moved so his lips were nowhere near her.

"Yes," he said and she could hear his swallow. His hand stopped moving through her hair and moved to rest stiffly on her waist. He was pulling away, but she physically wouldn't let him as she pulled herself even closer and moved her leg to rest across both of his.

"I really don't," she said and he sighed. She opened her eyes for the first time and pulled her head back to get a good look at him. "But you were right before. I don't want to be with someone who can't tell me how he feels."

"Didn't think so," he said, turning to look at her.

"So, then tell me how you feel," she told him. It was probably out of line, but, according to her alarm clock, he'd been with her for the past twelve hours and she had a right to know. She sat up, folded her legs in front of her, and looked down at him. "Tell me why you're still here."

"Andy..." he sighed, sitting up to mirror her position.

"Come on, Sam," she sighed, pulling her knees to her chest. "Don't make me feel like a pathetic loser on top of having this flu. That's just cruel." He laughed, looking down at his hands in his lap, and she nudged his bare foot with her own. "You want to be with me, Sam."

She wasn't 100% sure if that was true, but twelve hours taking care of her spoke volumes. And she just wanted to hear something real. "I do," he admitted and he looked at her again before shaking his head. "But-"

"I love you," she blurted out, so fast that it brought on another coughing fit. Despite how shocked she knew Sam was, he leaned forward to rub her back until the coughing ended. "I love you," she said again, more confidently. "And that still makes me feel like a pathetic loser because I've said it twice now-"

"Four times, actually," he interrupted and she shook her head- which still hurt, along with her throat and every muscle in her body. But she wasn't falling asleep again until Sam told her what she wanted to hear. Even if that meant never sleeping again. "Yeah," he said to himself, thinking back. "You've said it four times now."

"I don't think so," she said and he nodded. "Nope, just in the truck and right now."

"A few days before you actually _told _me, you woke me up in the middle of the night," he explained and she hid her face in her hands. "You were dreaming and you started talking. You said 'Sam, I love you. I love you. Sam.'"

"Oh my god," she said, mortified. She knew exactly what happened after that.

"Yeah," he laughed. "And then you woke up and I pretended to be asleep. And you kissed me-"

"Right there," she said, the tip of her finger on the spot on his neck where it really got his blood pumping. "I remember. And I'm really embarrassed."

"You shouldn't be," he laughed, gently removing the finger from his neck. "I mean, it's been nothing but good sex with you, McNally, but that was easily the best. Until the night you said 'I love you' in the truck."

"Yeah," she nodded, remembering. She had to look down at her mattress to hide the smile and blush on her face. "That was the best. But that's only three times, including this time. When was the fourth?"

She watched him hesitate. He almost looked like he was regretting the line of conversation. "The fourth time you said it, it wasn't to me," he explained and she pursed her lips. "It was a couple of nights after we broke up. You were talking to Diaz and you were pretty wasted. He was taking you home and when you walked by me at the bar, you said _loudly_ that I was a monster and you must be a monster for still being in love with me."

"I didn't mean it," she said quietly.

"It sounded pretty sincere," he told her and she shook her head.

"I was drunk. I was heartbroken. I didn't mean it. You're not a monster," she promised, looking up to find him watching her. "You don't have to tell me how you feel, Sam."

"What?" He asked, clearly surprised.

"You might not believe it, but I know how you feel," she said, laying back as the fatigue and pain started to wear her down.

"How do I feel?" He asked, laying behind her on his side. He rolled her over onto her back so he was looking down at her.

"The same way I do," she said and she got nervous as he fell a few inches above her. He was now resting on his forearm while his other hand skimmed the side of her flu ridden body. "It's why the sex was so amazing each time I said 'I love you.' It's why you've been here for over twelve hours despite how rude I've been the whole time. It's why you're looking at me like that even though I look like I've been living in the woods for six months."

"You look amazing," he said quietly. His eyes were glassy, not like he was crying, but like he was too overwhlemed with everything she had just told him.

"You're a liar," she laughed and then coughed. He didn't even turn away that time and she put her hand on his cheek. "But you don't have to say anything. And you can leave and I still won't hate you. If you don't think we should be together, then-"

She was cut off by his lips on hers and she knew she should push him away. She couldn't, though; she'd missed his lips a great deal in the past few weeks and she found herself kissing him back. She wasn't as forceful as he was, obviously, but she did her best. Instead of leaning into him, she pulled him down to her and locked a leg around his to keep him close. And then she couldn't breathe and she had to push him away and turn her head to cough into a pillow. He rested his forehead on her shoulder and hitched her leg further up his thigh so he could roll them both onto their sides.

She turned her head back toward his chest and pushed herself up his body so she was face to face with him. "That was dumb," she accused and he smiled. "I'm not taking care of you if you get sick."

"Yeah, you will," he said and she shook her head.

"Oh yeah? Why is that?"

"Because you love me," he whispered in her ear and she shivered. For the first time that day, it wasn't a response to her flu. "And because you know I love you. And even though you're better off without me, I want to be selfish and I want to be with you."

"I'm worse without you," she said. "You need to believe that. I'm way worse. I hate being sad, Sam. You make me not sad."

"You're starting to sound a little delirious, McNally," he chuckled and she put a hand on each of his cheeks. "Are you trying to say I make you happy?"

"You used to," she smiled and he nodded. "When you weren't breaking up with me."

"Right," he said, gently resting her onto her back. "Too late to take it back?"

"It should be," she said, rolling onto her side again, but this time so her back was to him. She pulled on his arm until his chest was against her back and then hugged his arm around her waist. "But you've got one more chance."

"Yeah?" He asked, tightening his hold on her.

"Mmmhhmmm," he hummed, shuffling back to line their hips. He moaned in her ear, just slightly, and she smiled to herself. "Say it again without all the stupid things after it."

"I love you," he said quietly and she turned back to kiss his cheek.

"I love you, too."


End file.
